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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709946">In the Valley</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LessonsFromMoths/pseuds/LessonsFromMoths'>LessonsFromMoths</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sterek All The Time (lots of one shots) [31]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU Stardew Valley, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Bartender Stiles Stilinski, Based off of a computer game, But it helps, But maybe a little of Gil too, Cute simulation, Derek has an eyepatch, Derek is kind of Shane and also Marlon, Don't need to be familiar with Stardew Valley, Graphic depictions of Alcohol Withdrawal, M/M, Monster Hunter Derek Hale, Scott always looks after animals, Small Towns, Sorry the tagging just ran away from me, Stardew Valley - Freeform, Stiles is Gus okay, Witch Lydia Martin, my bad - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:41:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,908</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LessonsFromMoths/pseuds/LessonsFromMoths</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A Stardew Valley AU where Stiles is the saloon owner, and Derek is the reclusive, alcoholic monster hunter who lives up in the mountains. Obvously, love ensues.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sterek All The Time (lots of one shots) [31]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/442444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In the Valley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A few things:</p><p>This story is supposed to be a bit fragmented. It's mostly just small snippets of Derek's life in the valley. It kind of represents how addiction can break up your life? Idk if it worked, but it isn't meant to be fluid. </p><p>Also, there is impllied and depicted alcohol abuse on Derek's part, along with a few graphic-er (not bad) withdrawal scenes. If that kind of thing is a trigger, please use caution. And please, for the love of god, if you're trying to get sober: CONSULT YOUR DOCTOR!!! They will help you do it safely!</p><p>Not beta'd, thanks for reading! (title taken from "Valley of the Dolls" by Marina).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles’s smile fills Derek’s dreams. The small town barkeep and tavern owner always has a grin and a beer ready for Derek when he comes into the tavern, usually already drunk off his ass. Stiles’s smile is the last thing Derek sees before he blacks out every night, and it follows him into his sleeping mind. Usually, that wouldn’t be a problem. Except now Stiles’s smile has invaded his daily work, which has definitely become a problem. He sees Stiles’s eyes in the slime that he farms, his smile in the dust sprites. He learned long ago not to hesitate with the kill, but that isn’t the problem. The problem is that Stiles is haunting him, invading his every dreaming and waking thought. His beauty, his love. His smile.</p><p>Derek drinks to forget. He drinks to try and erase the beauty that is Stiles. Everything except his smile fades away.</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>Like him, Stiles grew up in the valley. Unlike him, Stiles grew up in the middle of town, his father the Sheriff and his mother a well-liked schoolteacher. Derek himself was raised in the snowy mountains where his family mined the precious jewels that resided under the small town. After most of his family died in a mining accident, Derek’s sisters moved away to try and scrub the pain. But Derek couldn’t leave. He was forever drawn to the town, to its secrets and its darkness. And he knew, deep down, that he had to protect it as much as he could. </p><p>So he did the only thing he knew. He hunted monsters. </p><p>It wasn’t long after his family died that monsters began pillaging the village and terrorizing the villagers. The sheriff put out a bulletin offering a reward to whoever could slay the squid kids that wouldn’t leave the entrance of the general store alone. </p><p>Derek had taken his mother’s sword off of the wall and unsheathed it. He had never been allowed to touch it as a child, had been warned about the pain it would bring if he dared to take on its responsibility. He figured he couldn’t feel a worse pain than losing his entire family in one fell sweep.</p><p>He had been right, because when he held that sword he felt nothing but power and liberation. Swinging it was a grace he had never experienced before. Hunting the monsters that terrorized the valley helped him forget, but even more than that, it helped him remember. </p><p>But he doesn’t know if he really considers that helping.</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>Other than Stiles and the Sheriff, the animal keeper seems to be the only other person in town who can tolerate him. His name is Scott, but Derek tries not to refer to him by his name in an effort to keep his distance. That valiant effort sort of dissolves since he’s Stiles’s best friend and that somehow makes him more of a person, but while Scott seems dead-set on making Derek his friend, Derek could hardly care less. Friends really aren’t his thing. Especially friends that were happy in the way that Scott is. He was too...puppy-like for Derek to truly enjoy his company. </p><p>However, not only is Scott Stiles’s friend, but he’s also the friend of one Lydia Martin, the town’s resident witch. Like Derek, she lives right outside of town. And also like Derek, she’s feared by the townspeople, only called upon when they need her. Needless to say, apart from Stiles, Lydia is Derek’s favorite person. </p><p>It wasn’t long after he started going into the mines alone that he started stumbling across magical artifacts. Some of them took no explanation and Derek understood them and their inevitable consequences. The glow ring was one of those objects: simple, light, and useful.  But others, he would hold them and an overwhelming feeling of dread would pour over him. Those were the objects that he took to Lydia. Lydia is not like anyone Derek has ever met before. She’s intelligent and quick, but also holds a deep understanding of human nature. Derek knows that she can feel his pain every time he walks into her home, yet she still greets him the same as anyone else. </p><p>When Derek finds an odd, purple, star-shaped fruit, in the mines, Lydia is the first person he goes to.</p><p>“Where did you get this?” She asks. It’s not accusing or annoyed, just pure curiosity. </p><p>Derek shrugs. “I was in the mines, deeper than I ever remember being. It was just sitting there, like it was waiting for me.” He never worries about sounding stupid in front of Lydia, usually because she just seems to get it. </p><p>“It might have been,” Lydia murmured, holding it in her hands. Even though it’s no longer in Derek’s possession, he can still feel its power pulsating through the room and into his lungs as he breathes it in. She looks up at Derek. “You found a stardrop.”</p><p>“A what?” Derek asks, but even as he does he knows what it is. He’s heard stories about it since he was a child. His parents told him stories about how the Winter Star got its power from the first stardrop, which was cultivated by a farmer who lived in the mountains beside Stardew Valley. As legend has it, the gods were so impressed by the power of the stardrop that they gifted Stardew Valley with the Winter Star, a star only visible to one who was viewing the sky from the valley. </p><p>Lydia has no patience for his confusion. “You heard me.” She stares at the fruit for a few moments more before handing it back to Derek. “Here, before I get drawn into its power.”</p><p>“Before…?” Derek asks, still confused. </p><p>Lydia is mumbling to herself, turning to her extensive bookshelf and running her fingers along the spines. She pulls out the book she’s looking for and flips it open, mumbling a small spell for it to open up to the right page. She sets the book on the table between the two of them and Derek, now clutching the stardrop in his hands, leans forward to look. </p><p>On the left page is a hand drawn picture of the stardrop, with its parts labeled with scientific names -- parts that Derek assumes are only known to botanists. On the right side of the page the story of the stardrop is scrawled, almost exactly as his parents had told it to him. Underneath the story are a few more scribbled notes. Edible? Is one word that sticks out to Derek, and he looks back up at Lydia, whose eyes are shining with curiosity. </p><p>“It’s been said that if you were to ingest the stardrop, you become part of the valley from which it was grown. You enhance your abilities and even have the chance to gain more.” Derek really doesn’t like the look in her eyes.</p><p>“And you want me to…?” She nods, knowing what he’s asking. He looks down at the stardrop, whose tiny green leaves are looking a little wilted from his firm grip. “I don’t know, Lydia. How about you eat it?” </p><p>She shakes her head. “The one who finds it must eat it.”</p><p>“What if we split it?” He suggests, growing more and more nervous. The longer he holds onto the fruit, the more he wants to consume its energy. It’s scary to not be in control of himself. </p><p>“You have to eat the whole thing, Derek. I don’t even know if it would let you give up without eating it all.”</p><p>“What does that mean?” Derek asks, voice pitched a little higher than normal, but he’s already lifting the fruit to his mouth. He doesn’t even blink before it’s completely gone from sight. It tastes like his mother’s brisket, and he holds his composure as he swallows it down. He feels it travel all the way to his stomach, where it settles for a few seconds before growing inside of him. He feels its power mingling with his own being, pulsing through his blood vessels. There is no way to describe it, but he can feel Stardew Valley humming within him. </p><p>He’s never felt more at peace.</p><p>“Well?” Lydia asks.</p><p>Derek looks at her in wonder. “I think you’re onto something.”</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>Stiles greets him with a smile when he walks into the bar, almost sober. He makes Derek a pale ale and sets it in front of him without Derek even asking. </p><p>“There’s something different about you today,” Stiles muses, tilting his head a little. Derek shrugs. He knows it’s the stardrop in his veins, but he doesn’t know how to explain that to Stiles. How to explain how much more settled he feels, how content. How he’s been able to work longer and harder than before. How he can attribute all of this to a fruit. How could Stiles ever believe him?</p><p>“I like it,” the barkeep decides, nodding decisively. Derek manages a small smile once Stiles turns around. He’s pleased that Stiles approves of his change.</p><p>As the night wears on, Stiles only has to bring him a few more drinks before he calls it quits long before last call. He’s grabbing his jacket and is almost out the door when he hears Stiles’s farewell. He waves back to the man, then ventures into the cool summer night. </p><p>He finds himself enjoying the town as he walks back to his home, watching the cobblestone of the town square so he doesn’t trip on the worn spots. He passes Dr. Deaton’s practice, the playground, the community center. He keeps strolling until the streetlights disappear and he’s in the mountains, making his way past the Argent house and an old campsite. He can’t stop the sigh of relief he releases when he reaches his own door and locks it behind him, finally able to go to bed. </p><p>He wonders if tomorrow will feel like today did.</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>The night after Derek loses his eye, the first place he goes is town. He stumbles into the bar, as per usual, maybe a little drunker than usual. It’s a Sunday night, so the only other people there are Stiles, his bartender Liam, and the town fisherman Finstock, who drinks almost as much as Derek. Derek watches as Stiles’s smile slips off his face almost immediately, and he jumps the bar in one fluid motion, approaching Derek as one might approach a wild animal. “What happened to you?” He asks, voice so soft it makes Derek want to sob. Stiles must see something in Derek’s face, as his own softens considerably. Worry creases his brow and he slowly lifts his hands, giving Derek ample time to move away. Derek doesn’t, and Stiles cradles Derek’s head in his hands, gently tracing his long fingers along Derek’s new bandage. </p><p>“Hunting accident,” Derek croaks, trying to remember his own name. </p><p>“Will you be able to use it again?” It takes Derek a moment to realize that Stiles is referring to his eye.</p><p>He swallows thickly. “No. It’s gone,” he says.</p><p>Stiles’s face doesn’t show pity or disgust. He just looks sad. He looks like Derek’s misfortune hurts his soul. As he pulls Derek into a gentle hug, with Derek wondering if he should hug back or not, he thinks he might love this small town bartender, this man who can feel such a deep sadness for another person.</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>It’s a bad day. Derek clutches a pillow to his chest, trying to breathe but finding himself unable to. He clenches his eyes and jaw and wills the world to disappear, wills himself to just deteriorate until he feels nothing. He doesn’t know how long he lays on his bed trying to catch his breath before he puts on his clothes, stepping on the broken glass that litters his bedroom floor but deciding not to care. His feet are bloody as he pulls on socks, but he can’t even feel the glass through the pain in his chest. He grabs his coat and a bottle of whiskey on his way out the door, not even locking it behind him. </p><p>He makes it to the tavern after a lot of meandering and shuffled feet, and his whiskey is almost gone by the time he makes it to the front door. He tosses the bottle into the trash can by the door and makes his way inside, stopping at the bar right beside Finstock. Finstock chances a glance at him and sucks in air through his teeth. “You look worse than me. And that’s sayin’ something, kid.”</p><p>Derek just grunts, wrapping his hand around the cool glass that Stiles sets in front of him. “Rough day?” Stiles asks, sympathetic. Derek just knocks back the ale, taking it down in a few gulps. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Stiles slowly fills his glass up again, glancing slightly worried looks towards Derek. For Stiles’s sake, Derek takes a little longer on the second glass. Or at least he thinks he does. </p><p>Time doesn’t pass like it usually does, and Derek is somehow sitting on the couch in the adjacent arcade room, far from the bar. Stiles is standing next to him, shaking him. “Hey, Derek? We gotta get you home, buddy,” he’s saying. His eyes are so pretty. But he looks worried.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” is what he tries to say, but it comes out more like, “Dn wyyy.” It doesn’t do anything to placate Stiles, who looks even more concerned. He turns his head away to say something to someone else, but Derek is too distracted by Stiles’s hand on his shoulder to see who else is here.</p><p>“Derek, can you stand?” Another voice chimes in, and he sees Scott’s floppy hair come into view. He reaches out to touch it, but something in the back of his mind reminds him to stop. Standing. Yeah. He can do that. He lurches upwards, trying to use the momentum to balance onto his feet. Unfortunately, he’s not good at estimating, and he’s about to fall on his face when hands catch him by his arms, holding him upright.</p><p>“Yup,” he answers, swaying on his feet. He sees a glimpse of the Sheriff's face. There’s more talking and the mention of a truck before the three men help Derek outside. “Wait,” Derek says, fighting out of their grip. He throws himself towards where he thinks the trash can is and is barely able to throw the top of it off before he’s vomiting all of the alcohol back up, heaving and coughing. </p><p>When he comes back up for air, he’s got the Sheriff on one side and Stiles on the other. “Do you need to puke again, son?” The Sheriff asks. Derek hesitates, then nods, bracing himself against the trash can again. </p><p>“Sorry,” Derek mumbles between heaves, gasping for breath. Someone murmurs encouraging words, but Derek doesn’t hear them. Once his stomach is fully satisfied that it’s empty, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve and shivers, feeling a little of the cold now that he’s had a shock to his system. It’s still near impossible for him to walk by himself, so Scott and Stiles throw his arms over their shoulders and balance him while they walk the few yards to the Sheriff’s house, where they help him into the back seat of the sheriff’s truck. Stiles slides in beside him, with Scott in the front.</p><p>“Derek, it’s okay,” Stiles says, and Derek realizes that he’s still whispering apologies under his breath. He’s feeling drowsy so he leans his head on Stiles’s shoulder and closes his eye. They can’t have been driving long before Stiles speaks. “I’ve never seen him this bad,” he says softly, and Derek’s muddy brain realizes that he’s speaking to Scott and his dad. </p><p>“It’s the anniversary,” is all the sheriff says, and Derek can feel Stiles’s sharp inhale. He wonders if Stiles can feel the fresh tears rolling out of Derek’s eyes and soaking his soft shirt. </p><p>“Shit,” Scott breathes. Yes, indeed. “No wonder the poor guy got plastered.” Derek doesn’t live too far from the saloon by car, and they’re in the mountains before he can blink again. Stiles gently shakes him awake and helps him out of the car. The three men help him to his front door, where they decide Derek can’t quite be left alone yet. </p><p>They pat him down for keys before he mumbles, “N’lock,” and they open the door without trouble. Derek is barely conscious as they help him to his bedroom. </p><p>“Shit, watch where you walk,” Stiles says. “Dad, can you get the light?” The lights turn on, prompting Derek to close his eye. He doesn’t want to see anyways. He doesn’t want to know what the look on Stiles’s face is as he takes in the broken picture frames scattered around the room. They sit him on the bed, and someone starts taking off his shoes. </p><p>“Oh, Derek,” he hears, and he opens his eye to see Stiles looking at his bloody socks as if they caused him physical pain. </p><p>“Sorry,” Derek says again.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Stiles answers, his eyes looking glassy. Derek doesn’t like it when Stiles looks like that, so he retracts his legs, pulling them up onto the bed. </p><p>“S’okay,” he slurs, placing a sweaty palm on Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles reaches up and runs a finger across Derek’s cheek, and it’s then that Derek realizes that he himself is still crying. “Oh. S’okay,” he says again. Stiles laughs painfully, backing away.</p><p>“Will you be okay?” Derek realizes that Scott and the sheriff aren’t in his room anymore. Derek nods. He wishes Stiles doesn’t have to go, but he knows it’s right as he watches Stiles hesitate at his bedroom door, then flick off the light. “Goodnight, Derek,” Stiles says softly.</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>Derek wakes up covered in puke. It’s been a few days since Scott, Stiles, and the Sheriff dragged his ass home, and he had made the decision to drink alone for a little while. Wallowing in self-pity, unable to unbrand the image of stiles’s disappointed face twisted in pity. He tries to drink until he forgets, but he can’t. He hasn’t blacked out in years. His curse. </p><p>Derek looks down at himself in disgust, stripping his clothes and then his bedsheets. At least he puked on his bed instead of the couch again. That was a bitch to clean last time. As Derek goes through the motions of cleaning his things and showering, he wonders what it might be like. What it would be like to wake up without a small throbbing headache behind his eyes (especially the missing one, it absolutely kills on days like this), to not see worry shining in Stiles’s eyes, to not have shame-filled mornings like these. </p><p>It was one of the reasons his sisters left. They didn’t want to watch him drink his life away. </p><p>What if he did it? What if he decided to do something right for once and get sober? Would it really be that easy?</p><p>When Derek gets out of the shower he barely stops to put boxers on before going into the kitchen and grabbing all of the bottles he can find.  He takes perfectly full bottles and breaks the seals on their caps, dumping them unceremoniously into the sink. He repeats it until he has no more bottles left in the kitchen. He then moves onto the bedroom, grabbing the few small bottles in his bedside table and dumping those, too. Whiskey, rum, gin, brandy. It all goes down the drain with little regret. </p><p>Derek glares hatefully at the empty bottles. He can do this. He has to do this, if he wants to change his life. If he doesn’t want to die full of hate and loneliness. His resolve has never been stronger. He can do this.</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>Derek absolutely cannot do this. The first day or so was fine, he felt good and maybe a little bored. But at the end of day one, everything went downhill. Dizziness, nausea. And since last night, he’s been glued to the bathroom floor, hunched over the toilet between bouts of vomiting and dizziness. He can’t get his hands to stop shaking, and he knows he needs water but isn’t sure if he can hold a glass. </p><p>Derek is curled up on his bathroom floor, hoping that he’ll die sooner rather than later, when he hears a knocking on his front door. It’s loud and fast, as if it’s not the first bout of knocking. Derek groans and takes a deep breath. “I’m here! In here,” he says, belching and holding a fist over his mouth, trying not to throw up the bit of water he managed to scoop up from the sink faucet. He hears footsteps but he’s not too worried, Stardew Valley isn’t a crime-heavy area. </p><p>“Derek?” He hears, and Stiles’s head appears in the bathroom doorway. “Derek? Are you okay?” His face is crumpled in worry, and Derek can’t even respond before his head’s back in the toilet bowl. He can feel Stiles’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades, rubbing softly. </p><p>“Shit,” Derek sighs, leaning back from the toilet. He flushes it so he doesn’t have to look at it or smell it, though it’s not much except the water he tried to drink. Stiles is looking at him with his curious caramel eyes, head tilted.</p><p>“Your pupil is dilated.” <em>Ha. Singular pupil. </em>You see, it’s funny because he lost his eye. Ha.</p><p>Derek closes his eye and sighs, leaning back gently against the wall. “Yeah,” he says softly.</p><p>“You’re not drunk,” Stiles’s voice is odd, so Derek opens his eye again to look at him. </p><p>“No,” he croaks. He rubs at his eye, and he stills as Stiles takes his shaking hands in his. </p><p>“When you didn’t show up at the saloon for three days, I worried,” he says.</p><p>Derek manages a wane smile. “Kind of sad that you know something’s wrong when I don’t show up to drink, huh?” </p><p>Stiles grips his hands a little tighter. “Tell me you didn’t stop cold turkey.”</p><p>“There’s not a drop in this house,” Derek sighs. When Stiles’s brow starts to wrinkle with worry, he sits up straighter in alarm. “But I’ve been monitoring my symptoms. I haven’t reached severe, really. I’m more of a mild.”</p><p>“Mild?” Stiles’s eyes are wide. “Derek, you’re pale and sweaty, and your hands can’t stop shaking. Not to mention your stomach problem. You’re probably dehydrated as hell.”</p><p>Derek shakes his head. “M’fine.”</p><p>Stiles shakes his head more emphatically. Bastard’s head probably isn’t aching like Derek’s is. “No, Derek. When was the last time you could keep water down?” </p><p>Derek squints in concentration. “Last night? Wasn’t too long ago,” he says.</p><p>“Okay,” Stiles says. “Okay.” He looks like he’s thinking. He lets go of Derek’s hands and stands. “I’m going to go and get some water. If you can’t hold some down in the next few hours, I’m going to have to drive you to the hospital.”</p><p>“What?” Derek starts to stand and follow Stiles, and Stiles helps him up. </p><p>“You should lie down on the couch,” Stiles says. “You must be exhausted.” His face is tender and comforting, and it hurts Derek’s heart to look at this expression. </p><p>“You sure?” Derek shuffles to the couch, feeling lethargic. It’s a relief when Stiles hands him a glass of water, then makes himself comfortable on the recliner. </p><p>“You get satellite up here?” Stiles asks, grabbing the remote. He turns on the TV, flipping through channels until he settles on one he’s happy with. </p><p>Derek sips his water slowly, eyeing Stiles. “Why are you still here?” He asks. </p><p>Stiles shoots him a look. “There is literally no way you’re convincing me to leave,” is all he says. </p><p>But Derek’s confused. “Why?” </p><p>Stiles sighs. “Look. When my mom died, my dad got a little too comfortable with the bottle. He was drunk most nights...for a long time. And when he got sober, he and I did it together.”</p><p>Derek smiles a little. “So you grew up to own and operate a bar?” He asks.</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face now, too. “I am an adult and can make my own business choices.” Derek watches him grimace. “But those days were hard. And I think the only reason he made it back from that is because we were both there to get through it together.” Stiles looks at Derek, then. “So let’s get through this together.” </p><p>Warmth blooms in Derek’s chest, a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. </p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>Derek wakes up covered in sweat, gasping from the reminder of the nightmare that was interrupted. “Derek?” He hears, and he looks around wildly in the dark of the room. </p><p>“What? Where…?” He throws his blankets off of him, but as his eyes adjust he sees a figure standing beside his bed. Stiles. It’s Stiles. And he’s in his bedroom. Okay.</p><p>“Take some breaths,” Stiles says, sitting on the side of his bed. Derek does, sucking in as much air as he can force into his lungs. It’s not a lot. Once he catches his breath, he falls back onto the bed, savoring his breaths. It’s day three, and he’s been waking up like this every few hours since yesterday. “Are you good?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“Do I look good?” Derek snaps, then immediately sighs. “I’m sorry.” </p><p>“It’s fine,” Stiles says, and he means it. Derek’s been easily irritated for the past few days, and each time he snaps, Stiles just matches him with unconditional kindness. He doesn’t deserve it. “My dad got irritable, too,” he says. “It’ll last a few days.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Derek says again. </p><p>“Stop apologizing,” Stiles chuckles a bit. “Do you feel feverish?” He leans over and presses the back of his hand onto Derek’s forehead. “No, you’re good. I’m going to go and get you some more water, okay?” </p><p>Derek looks at him with what must be adoration. He tries to tone it down before Stiles starts to catch on too much. “Thank you,” he says. Stiles just smiles at him before disappearing. </p><p>Fuck. He’s so fucking fucked. </p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>Next time when Derek wakes up in a sweat, gasping for air and heart skipping too many beats, Stiles crawls into his bed and holds him. He gives him crushes ice to chew and wraps his arms around him carefully, holding Derek sideways on the bed. </p><p>“Why are you still here, Stiles?” He softly asks the question again, four days later. </p><p>“Because I couldn’t not be,” he answers, just as quietly, as if he’s afraid to break what fragile thing stands between them. </p><p>“What happens when I’m sober?” Derek asks. </p><p>He can feel Stiles swallow thickly. He’s tracing small circles onto Derek’s bicep, never losing his grip. “Then I ask you on a date,” he says. “And life goes on from there.”</p><p>Derek holds onto Stiles a little longer. He likes the thought of that.</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
-<br/>
-</p><p> </p><p>Derek walks into the bar, a bottle in his hand. “I brought refreshments!” He calls out, and a chorus of cheers greets him. Stiles skips into view, catching him by the hips and grabbing the bottle from him.</p><p>“Sparkling grape juice?” He reads the label, smiling at Derek.</p><p>Derek shrugs. “You know me. A sucker for fizzy drinks.” He looks around at people gathered around the place, chatting and laughing. “Why are we doing this again?”</p><p>“Because the little things are worth celebrating,” Stiles pecks his cheek and taps his eye patch before spinning off into the saloon, thoroughly abandoning his boyfriend. </p><p>“Derek!” He spins to see Scott standing in the doorway, his wife Kira on his arm and their daughter Jasmine sprinting from behind them, eager to play with the other kids. “Congrats, dude,” he shakes Derek’s hand, and Derek can’t stop the bashfulness he feels.</p><p>“Wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”</p><p>“Aw, you don’t mean it!” Scott says modestly. “Hey, did you get mine and Lydia’s gift?” The two of them had gone out of their way to create a home totem, which, when used properly, could be utilized to be transported home from anywhere. That meant that if he was down in the mines late at night and too tired to get back up, Stiles didn’t have to worry about him sleeping down there all alone.</p><p>“It was so thoughtful. Thank you both so much,” he says sincerely. </p><p>Scott just grins his crooked grin. “Anytime, man! Gotta go say hi to the Sheriff, I think someone else wants to talk with you,” he pointedly looks behind Derek, where Stiles is bouncing on his toes impatiently. </p><p>“Hey,” he says softly as Derek takes a few quick steps towards him.</p><p>“Hey,” Derek says back.</p><p>“You ready for cake?” </p><p>“You didn’t,” Derek says. </p><p>“You know I did,” Stiles’s grin is the epitome of shit-eating. “Now come on, I think we’ve waited long enough.”</p><p>Derek looks to the arcade, where Allison, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are playing pool. He glances at the tables where Finstock, the Sheriff, and Argent have made themselves comfortable. He notices Liam chatting with his friend Mason from over the bar. Scott and Kira are chasing Jasmine and Vincent down, making them squeal excitedly. Lydia, who has just walked in fashionably late. Everyone who’s here to celebrate with him. Yeah, they’ve all waited a long time. </p><p>“Happy one year of sobriety!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was super indulgent and I loved writing it!<br/>Please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed, I respond to all comments :) xx</p></blockquote></div></div>
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